


Who Is In Control?

by sp8ce



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Control Issues, Corruption, Death, Demonic Possession, Demons, F/F, F/M, Gore, Hell, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Plotty, Power Dynamics, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rare Characters, Rare Pairings, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-08 10:44:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18893044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sp8ce/pseuds/sp8ce
Summary: Bela Talbot's story did not end when she arrived in Hell. The clock's not running anymore,and she really doesn't want to be in anyone else's control.





	1. Sell Your Soul For Control

You chose to start torturing other souls immediately. You remember the point of it; you didn’t crack. You didn’t give in to that demon who started hacking into a body you couldn’t even comprehend, considering you knew it was shredded to pieces on Earth. It wasn’t very long that you were even in pain--you just needed to be given the option, and that came pretty quick. Your torturer must’ve seen the coldness that you’d had from your life, that you’d already been hardened and destroyed enough, because it was barely any time at all before you were in the position of being the torturer.

You wonder if the demon understood you or if they just thought you were heartless. You suppose you must be, but you’d much rather be in pain yourself than have someone else be in pain. You’d suffer for probably eternity and never give in if it were a matter of pain.

But you refused for someone to be in power over you. “Not anymore,” you thought. Because you know that that was inevitable in your existence, but it’d also been your whole life. You whole damn life, and you certainly weren’t going to let it go on any longer than you could.

You traded up and up and hoped to trade enough to spare your life and get out of the contract you’d gotten into and actually start a life. You wanted to be as untouchable as possible. You didn’t feel because you’d disconnected yourself from that.

You’d spent your entire life running. And someone was always in power over you. Whether it was when you were just a little girl, confused and in pain, or after that, dealing with the consequence of it, and having demons rule your life with a stopwatch counting down to a day when you were twenty-four.

You never lived life. How could you live life when you’re running from both the past and the future? People stole that from you. You were always in someone else’s power.

No, that demon doesn’t understand that at all. But you guess he gets you in a way only Dean Winchester really ever did: he gets that you are fair to damaged to react to any situation normally. You give in so quickly that the pain you received in that part of hell was not as bad as the pain you’d received on Earth.

Physically.

You actually laugh when you’re in a position of power over someone else. You’re to torture this man, probably a murderous psychopath but possibly a fucked-up kid like you, or you end up with someone so immediately above you in power once again.

You suppose you have to work the system, but you know that you really only have one true destiny anymore.

You’ll reach the top. You couldn’t before; not with Lilith holding a contract limiting you to ten years on the Earth’s surface. Now you can.

You will be above everyone.

\---

You’re so broken you don’t realise how young you are. You’re so broken you don’t realise that you can get so much more messed up than you already are. You’re so broken that you really don’t care.

You know, somewhere in the back of a head that still fully remembers its past from the fact it probably has only been a week and you’ve probably only been tortured for a few hours of it, that if you hadn’t been so broken you could’ve fixed yourself. Maybe you could’ve lived past twenty-four.

But how could you ever trust anyone, especially someone who doesn’t trust you? How could you open yourself up and ask for help? Somewhere, you know that the Winchesters would’ve helped you. Maybe if you could’ve made it beneficial towards them in some way, maybe if you played them right and made them think with their less-broken hearts and not their panic for Dean’s predicament as well.

You wonder if you’ll ever get to torture Dean. One day you ask about it--it’s not unheard of to make these sort of calls and you wonder if a certain fear that you have about another man that is certainly in hell influenced your first decision in this place at all as well--but the response you get is from an angry sickle-handling maniac who yells at you noOoOoO. She tells you that Dean Winchester is fair above your meager level. Dean Winchester is important. He deserves special treatment that you could never achieve.

You don’t know what this means, but you know that your “torturing” is pretty horrible. You want to get creative, and maybe it’s because you just haven’t been at it long enough, but you end up just drawing art into flesh. It’s enough to make a person scream and beg, but for you it’s just enough to get lost in the act of it. You focus your creativity on the design, not the pain you’re eliciting.

To get higher up, would you need to change this? To make it so you don’t end back up in the torturer’s place (more importantly, with someone having 100% control over you), would you need to get better at making a person be in pain?

You’re really good at not really being in situations. You’ve been avoiding a past and a future (and during that past and during that future, the present) for so long, you just know right how to disconnect. You suppose you could get better at causing pain, but a part of you is concerned that to do that you’d actually have to think about the fact you’re causing pain. But that part of you also tries to smother that fact because that means that you could get more messed up, and you don’t want to think about that. You don’t want to think about how much worse you could get.

You just want to get there.

A small part of you wonders if you could get into making demon deals, like the demon who originally contracted away your soul. You decide that to stomach that you might need to slice up quite a few more souls.

But, truth be told, you don’t regret your fourteen year old decision. You wished that you could’ve killed him yourself, but the truth is you really are making the same decisions now. You will always sell your soul if it means that you are the one in control.

You suppose selling your soul isn’t the best way to be in control.

But you also think that with enough drive and enough of your own internal power, it could be. And it’s not like you ever really had many options.

 


	2. Words Whispered on a Plane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I know what happened to your girlfriend! She must have died screaming! Even  
> now, she's burning!"  
> -demon, Phantom Traveller

Days go by and you’re better at being inconspicuous about it. You love the art of torture, but not when it means you’re thinking about the person being in pain. So you’re not very good at it. But you’re good at being mediocre at it. You suppose you’re good at not losing yourself to the violence of it, but rather losing yourself in the act of it so much you’re not really there during it.

It’s when you’re beginning to carve a valentine heart over this girl’s heart, that you notice something odd about her.

You realise she must’ve sold her soul because you can taste the goodness off her, and you only get that with people who are stupid enough to sell their souls (unlike you, you made it so your trip to hell was worth it. You would’ve gotten here anyways if you’d chosen the same paths while not having that deal).

You could see her human body--most people you can because they project it outwards since that’s what they feel they are on some innate sense. She’s got blonde locks and loving eyes and a killer body. But maybe she’s just imagining her looking like that.

But the thing that makes you freeze is the amount of time she’s been here. Everyone has a tally that constantly carves into their right wrist. It’s the only thing that doesn’t get healed every time the person becomes whole again. And hers read 309 years.

It’s not like you haven’t seen counters that get way up there, but you haven’t seen anyone who still seems so alive so high up. Most people crack. She hasn’t, and she is the least broken thing you’ve seen in here.

You compare her to you for a minute and are overcome with immeasurable rage because you never had this sort of goodness to you. You never really had a chance, but here she is so much better than you after 309 years of torture.

You were fourteen. You were twenty-four. You had nothing to complain about. You finish carving out that heart, and force her to eat her own. You milk the enjoyment out of her suffering, something you’ve never really done before. You feel your soul get darker, even though you’ve never had a mirror to see how dark you’ve become.

She’s begging you to stop, and you know that you’ve begged people before and you know how stale that feels. But she’s been begging for hundreds of years so who gives a fuck?

You begin taunting her. You rarely taunt anyone. It’s not your MO. You’re usually just an artist who’s fascinated by the endless canvas of human flesh. Now you’re losing it at her.

“Ooooh, what did you sell your soul for? Was it worth this? Was it?” You literally stab her uterus and hope she’s had bad enough period pain to be accustomed to that. Then you remember she probably can barely remember Earth in the same way you can. You begin to get scared because you know you’re going to lose your memory if you keep on like this. You realise that that’s all you ever wanted, so why are you scared? You never wanted to feel human. You can never remember anything you ever enjoyed.

You keep saying horrible stuff to her, echoing your own past and making yourself sick. You’ve never told people it in detail like that. Ever. Because no one believed you.

It’s not until you hear choke out, “I didn’t sell my soul,” that you become really intrigued.

What on Earth could she have done then? What did she do to make her end up here? Maybe this was all an illusion. Or maybe she killed her father like you dreamt of. But you don’t think she’d still seem this pure. You’re almost enamoured by it. You try asking her, dimming down on the torture because you’re really interested now. You haven’t felt this much in so long, you’re feeling human in the torturing and maybe that’s what hell is. It steals your humanity by either tearing away your experiences as human with time and pain or steals them with allowing you to feel alive and darkening your soul.

But she just keeps telling you that she doesn’t know, and you wonder if she’s lying. But why would she? She’s been here for hundreds of years. Maybe she’s delusional herself? Hundreds of years of torture would do that.

Now you only elicit your wrath on her when she doesn’t respond to your questioning. You know this is unorthodox, that you should not be the one investigating, but she’s interested you from the start.

She’s spitting nonsense at you. All she can make out are facts like “Stanford” and “Ceiling” and “Demon” and “Fire”. Her discumbled words say how no one’s ever asked her about any of this; she doesn’t know what you want. She says the last thing she remembers seeing was her boyfriend yelling her name from beneath him before she burnt on the ceiling. Snidely, you ask what his name was. You don’t care. You wouldn’t know anyone from 309 years ago. But when she says “Sam, Sam Winchester,” like it’s the only thing she ever even needs to remember in eternity, you drop your knife.

Sam? You know you know Sam. Momentarily, you forget the rest of the context and ask her if she’s Dean. She doesn’t know how to reply.

“Dean saved him,” is the closest thing to reply you can get. “From the fire.”

Dean saved Sam from the fire she died in? Demons were involved?

You’re in shock. You’ve been torturing the ex-girlfriend of your Sam. The Sam you screwed over. The Sam who really is a good person. And she is too. The Sam that Lilith was so intrigued by. Oh, that important Sam Winchester.

Is she here because of her relation to him?

Suddenly, you’re overcome by injustice. You ask her if she ever even did anything wrong. She says she doesn’t know. And you know she didn’t. You just know. And it’s then you realise that you care. And maybe that’s a human thing. Maybe Hell is doing the opposite to you than it should. Because you really care about her now, and you care about how unjust it is, and the fact that she’s been in Hell for 309 years (you also tally in your head that Hell time must be different than that on Earth because you knew Sam and Dean only a few weeks ago). You care about it enough to be able to forget your rotten past and how trapped you’ve always been to focus on it. You’re going to fix this.

You realise that you aren’t torturing anyone of real importance, so she must just be forgotten.

Hell really messed up.

You’re going to fix this.

**Author's Note:**

> this was started in 2015  
> please let me know what you think  
> also here's some bela talbot/jessica moore what a ship  
> i just really love bela okay  
> <3<3<3


End file.
